Tease
by missmetric
Summary: "Damn observant woman. She knew exactly what she was doing to him, what he wanted, and she had no intentions of stopping anytime soon." Rated for sexual themes and language.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys!**

**This is my absolute first published Walking Dead fanfic AND my first attempt at anything remotely sexual, so please feel free to hit me with the useful critiques. **

**It will have two parts and it MAY have a third depending on how long the second portion turns out to be and whether or not the two things I have in mind can work as a cohesive unit. **

**This is fairly "M" rated, despite being comparably tame and nowhere close to smut. Still, there is enough sexuality and Dixon-mouth here that I am wary of giving it a "T". **

**Also, a note on accents. I leave Carol's cute little accent from Seasons 1&2 in here. I tried to show it subtly in how I did her dialogue. Let me know if it comes across at all and how the accents sound for both characters. It's something I'm working on getting comfortable with.**

**Cheers! Enjoy!**

* * *

It was an uncharacteristic move on Carol's part and one Daryl had not expected. How she had noticed the slight bulge that formed in his tattered cargo pants, he didn't know. Had she just worn a damn bra he probably wouldn't have been in this mess in the first place, but there she'd been, leaning on her elbows with her tank top gaping in all the right places and unknowingly stirring up all sorts of feelings, all sorts of needs he'd been neglecting for longer than he cared to admit.

There just wasn't any time for that anymore, what with the influx of new group members from Woodbury and the constant runs that were required to keep up with their needs. They were thirty strong now and while their numbers made it easier for Daryl to get a night off of watch once in awhile, the lack of space made it damn near impossible to find a moment alone. Once his late night refuge, the showers were constantly full these days. There wasn't anymore going off into the woods alone, not with the council breathing down his neck to be "responsible" and take the younger Woodbury men with him to learn to hunt and track. He saw the logic in all of that, but that didn't make it any easier to quit staring at Carol like he was some starving goddamn wolf who'd finally found himself a snack.

Her skin was pale and heavily freckled, even underneath the tattered red tank top that Daryl remembered was her favorite. He was graced (or cursed, perhaps) with the teasing mental image of a little pond on a warm, sunny day and Carol, pulling that tank top over her head and sliding those dark jeans off of her hips, the sun painting her soft skin with all those freckles. He would have given anything to see something like that back at Hershel's farm, though he'd never have admitted it to her. Hell, he still wanted that. Maybe he'd have to arrange for Carol to go on a short run with him soon. They could curl up somewhere for the night, attend to some _needs_, and head back with supplies just in time to excuse their extended absence with the story of a small herd or a flat tire.

Daryl sucked in his breath sharply and forced his eyes to focus on the grey, concrete wall behind Hershel's head. The old man was giving an impassioned speech. Hershel was generally full of helpful advice, but given the opportunity he would ramble for hours on end about some moralistic dilemma that interested exactly no one. Today it was meal planning, which Daryl had little opinion about , but it was something to think on that was unrelated to Carol's small hands rubbing painfully slowly against her long neck, working out some kind of knot at an unnecessarily erotic pace. She let out a little moan of relief as the crick eased under her hands.

Daryl cleared his throat, shifting restlessly in the heavy wooden chair. He tugged at his olive green pant leg a little, subtly attempting to readjust himself just enough to relieve the growing ache that had formed there.

A smug little smile crossed her pretty face as if she had read his dirty mind and decided, after seeing his desperate need, that she was going to do something about it. And then there had been her hand drawn under the table and resting lightly on the top of his thigh.

She seemed to always notice when he needed something. Food, sleep, a haircut (a notion he resented, but begrudgingly consented to the week before when he realized she'd be running her hands through his hair for the better part of a half hour). Maybe it was just her nature to be attentive to people in that way.

Damn observant woman. She knew exactly what she was doing to him, what he wanted, and she had no intentions of stopping anytime soon.

He glanced at her, eyes filled with sudden panic as she subtly slid her small hand from the top of his thigh to his lap, cupping him firmly through his pants when she reached her mark. She didn't seem to think that anyone had noticed and to her credit, Daryl was fairly certain they hadn't. Still, his heart pounded furiously against his sternum in anticipation of getting caught. Without even meeting his eyes, she had singlehandedly managed to derail his (admittedly quite limited) focus on Hershel's impassioned request that the council institute a prison spaghetti night. God, this woman… She could be so damn...sassy...sometimes, usually in an attempt to tease him. He had to admit he kinda liked it though.

Her movements were barely noticeable, but his cheeks flushed at the feel of her small hand alternating between those long, slow strokes and squeezing just enough to make his breath catch in his throat. He cut his eyes at her again asking wordlessly "What the hell's gotten into you?" But she didn't frown or stop. She just smiled and, squeezing him a little harder, interjected "If Beth's willing to look after Judith for the evening, I can handle getting spaghetti put together, Hershel. All in favor?"

Daryl groaned a little louder than he'd intended, lips drawn into a thin grimace. Carol's eyes went wide for a split second and her hand froze, still firm against him, but not moving. Caught. They were caught. Goddammit. They were gonna think he was some kind of pervert, gettin' his dick stroked under the table at a council meeting where anyone could have noticed them. What the hell was she thinking? She'd done a whole lot to make him squirm over the past year, but never something like this.

"You all right there, son?" Hershel asked, a questioning glimmer behind the old man's eyes as the he silently noted Carol's arm's slow withdrawal into her own lap.

"Your shoulder still botherin' you, Daryl?" Carol asked with genuine concern, looking him in the eye for the first time since she began this whole mess.

He stuttered a little, rubbing the back of his neck. "Naw, it ain't. Just ain't sure why we hafta vote on you boilin' some damn noodles." He hadn't meant to be that gruff, but the statement served it's purpose in taking the attention off of his groan.

Scowling, she answered, "We don't have to vote. I was just tryin' to be considerate."

Hershel cleared his throat and reclaimed the floor. "If no one has any problems with us adjourning for the evening, then I'd suggest we do so."

With a grunt of approval, Daryl stood awkwardly from his chair and stomped out of the room before the council could question him any further.


	2. Chapter 2

**I'm so flattered by the response to this. I worked really hard on it and I'm still not 100% sold on how it turned out, but I really appreciate everyone's reviews and follows and favs. You guys are the best. :)**

**If you're really into watching me flounder around trying to relearn how to write, go check out "Rose and Thorns". It's a tiny drabble series and I'm taking requests so don't be shy.**

**All that being said… Here's part 2. Let me know what you think.**

* * *

Carol slunk back through the chilly, grey hallways of the prison towards Cellblock C, fully expecting that Daryl would never speak to her again. God, what had she been thinking?

This wasn't her at all, but he was so easy to tease that she couldn't help herself. He looked so cute when he was flustered.

If she was completely honest with herself, she thought he looked cute most of the time now that he'd learned about the many wonders of semi-regular bathing and allowing his laundry to be done on occasion. Even before the miraculous introduction of basic hygiene into his routine, she had to admit he'd been attractive. Daryl minus the gory, black spray of walker guts was a sight to behold and frankly, it was driving her crazy. She was exhausted with inaction, exhausted with waiting around for him to muster up the courage to make a move.

He had all but confirmed his interest when he had carried her out of the tombs so many months ago. He'd swept her up in his arms and, apparently thinking that she had fallen unconscious, spent the entire time muttering to himself about how he had let "his girl" down in not looking for her more thoroughly and how that wouldn't happen again. The very notion that Daryl thought of her as "his girl" was enough to keep her aching body awake, though she'd had the good sense to never bring it up to him. Carol knew how he was, how utterly self-conscious any show of emotion or affection could make him.

She had kissed him twice. The first back at Hershel's farm was on the forehead, before anything remotely resembling tension had arisen between them. She had just wanted to make him feel appreciated, to show him how much it meant to her that he was willing to go to such lengths for her little girl. Though Daryl had accepted that kiss, the color that rose in his cheeks did not go unnoticed. More gruffly than he'd likely meant to, he'd dismissed her attention and she had left him to his brooding.

The second was slightly less innocent, though she wasn't sure he'd gotten the message. When they were camped out in the storage units he had stayed awake with her all night, telling her stories about how he'd gotten some of his more interesting scars and the dumb antics Merle had gotten into back before the world had gone to hell to help her ward off the claustrophobia that the tiny steel-walled closets had triggered. She hadn't meant to kiss him that time, but she couldn't help herself. It was the first time he'd had a real conversation with her and honestly, she wasn't sure he'd spoken to anyone else in that way. He was uncharacteristically sweet and open with her. He'd asked her about Sophia and listened dutifully as she recounted her favorite stories about her little girl's short life. And when they finally began to drop off into fitful sleep, huddled up under his poncho with their shoulders touching and their backs to the cool metal wall, she leaned up and in the darkness, missed all but the corner of his mouth.

He grunted at her and muttered, "You gon' be okay sleepin' like this?"

"I'll be okay sittin' up. You good?" she'd asked, eyelids heavy with exhaustion.

He'd nodded. And even though he hadn't responded to the kiss, he hadn't pulled away from her either. She had counted the kiss as a small win and fallen asleep more easily than she had in months.

After that night, there had been so few opportunities to make any sort of move. Carol wasn't even sure she should have made one in the first place, so she left it alone save some minor teasing. It was Daryl's turn to make a move and though she swore he'd tried to convince himself to do something once or twice, he hadn't done more than that night when they'd first found the prison and he'd offered to massage her shoulder. The waiting was getting more than a little frustrating.

She hadn't intended to do something some obvious, but well… the opportunity had presented itself. And it had been too good of an opportunity to turn down.

She should have known that it would backfire.

Despite having gained a fair amount of confidence since they had reached the prison, Daryl was still so closed off. He couldn't bear for the focus to be on him. Hell, he hardly spoke at council meetings unless someone directly addressed him and even then, he didn't say a lot. A week before, Karen had patted Daryl warmly on the shoulder, thanking him for the deer he'd hunted for dinner in front of no more than three people and he'd grunted nervously at her about needing to walk the fences before sprinting away.

He'd retreated to the prison library where Carol had been curled up in the relative comfort of her favorite ugly armchair planning for their weekly supply run. Flopping on the lumpy, grey couch with a groan, he declined to comment at first. After a few moments, he began to recount for Carol the long list of affronts to his fragile sensibilities that the Woodbury group had committed that week. Tucking her water-stained white legal pad into the crevice between the fluffy mustard yellow cushion and the arm of the chair, she'd listened intently to his concerns. He knew logically that they meant well and that they just didn't know him well enough to yet to realize how awkward that sort of thing was for him. Still, Daryl couldn't stand drawing any sort of attention. The intentions behind the compliments weren't important. Overt positivity and praise made him want to crawl out of his skin.

If he couldn't bear an innocuous and public touch on the arm, why did she think he was going to respond well to her grabbing his crotch in front of the council members?

To be honest, Carol hadn't thought about it at all.

Her conscious was clouded by the fatal combination of deep appreciation she felt for Daryl and a foggy lust that she constantly struggled to suppress. When she'd noticed him watching her at the council meeting, noticed the slight bulge that strained against his zipper and had played it up, deliberately leaning forward a little further. Her head rested in her cupped hands, elbows places firmly on the heavy wooden table to encourage a the gap in the thin straps of her tank top to open just subtly enough to give Daryl a glimpse. She had been careful to move slowly. He already sat close by her at their weekly meetings. It was not unusual for her to fold her hands in her lap. A slight slip to the left wouldn't be easily noticed.

In her defense, the only reason Hershel had the slightest inkling of what was going on was that Daryl couldn't keep quiet. And good lord, that was the sexiest noise.

Still, she shouldn't have done that.

It was wrong.

It was incredibly rude if nothing else.

She'd put him in a terrible position without giving him the option to back out of it. She was absolutely certain he'd never speak to her again after that and she knew she deserved that.

As Carol approached her cell, she noticed that the gate was cracked. Resigning herself to the fact that it would be a less than quiet evening, she took a deep breath and prepared for a maelstrom of Dixon rage.

* * *

**Don't kill me for cutting it off there! The third and final part is at the halfway point and should be up shortly. Cheers!**


End file.
